The Story That Doesn't Really Have a Title Yet
by Premium Blend
Summary: A vague romance of sorts involving a homosexual man, one self-convinced straight man, a red-headed flame dame, a physics major next door, a cop that keeps locking her keys in various vehicles, a socially crippled mute, and an over-confident male model.
1. Chapter 1

Longest A/N in history:

It's been nearly a year since I last attempted to write anything, and longer since I took the last vestiges of unfinished stories off of my page. However, I'm going to attempt a new story and see if I can finished it out no matter how badly it wants to crash and burn.

This story was initially an attempt to modernize _Twelfth Night_ in a way that involved mutants and homoerotic love, but the more I wrote, the more the story diverged from that path until it seemed to be headed toward an end of goal of awkwardly comical romance rather than a Shakespearean knock-off.

I actually rather like this path a bit more, since I considered the story- even in the beginning- as a practice in storytelling whose main plot device is emotions, rather than one clearly definable end goal, such as 'Beat the shit out of bad guys" or "Solve some real life-changing problem."

Clearly, I have tweaked personalities and personal histories ever so slightly, so they fit just a bit better; I have, however, kept the idea of an altered universe, complete with mutant powers which really just serve to spur angst and confusion than lend to a super-massive paradigm-shifting plot device. I hope you enjoy it.

Title: Twelfth Night, What You Will, or The Story That Started Out As Twelfth Night, But Turned Into Something Else Entirely Story

Author: Premium Blend

Rating: M

Summary: A vague romance of sorts involving one homosexual man, one self-convinced straight man, a red-headed flame dame, the physics major next door, a cop that keeps locking her keys in various vehicles, a socially crippled mute, and an over-confident male model. *

_*___If this summary wasn't detailed enough then I do not know WHAT will please you people. S-s-s-sarcasm! And of course, I'm retaining the mutant abilities but to a much less central degree.__

Update schedule: I intend to update about once a week, thought it might be even less than that. If you'll remind me, I promise to keep this up and running. Maybe. If you ask. Nicely.

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><p><em><em>1st Chapter AN: I'm sorry if these first few parts seem a bit rushed, but the how's and why's aren't as important as the body of the story. So without further ado, I present to you this uninteresting story, freshly typed and un-beta'd.__

" So, you understand the directions, correct? You know how to get here?" Hank's voice buzzed nervously on the other end of the phone.

Charles smiled fondly, placing another folded oxford shirt into his suitcase. "Yes, yes, Hank, I understood your almost twenty times over explanation. I am so sure that I can follow the directions to your house that I am prepared to take a quiz on it."

"Ah-haha-ha," Hank chuckled, the sound a mixture of nervousness and self-consciousness; Charles wished to delve into Hank's mind and have a less tedious conversation with his close friend, but the distance was to great to manage such a feat. "But you're _sure?"_

"_Yes, Hank. _I'm sure! Now hang up and pay attention to whatever it is you're doing, before you kill yourself."

Hank coughed. "How did you-?"

"Just go, Hank; I'll be there tomorrow, if I can remember the directions."

Charles hung up, chuckling at Hank's scrambling reaction. He continued packing in silence, wondering how his life had taken such a dramatic turn; he never would have thought that he would be so willing (or rather desperate) to live-in with Hank in that god-forsaken town in the mountains to help the physicist with whatever experiment he was currently engaged in.

It took six hours to drive to Hank's cabin in God Knows Whereville (or rather Orsino, as it appeared on the map), a town that looked like the set of a campsite horror than a populated and functional urban development. But the longer that Charles spent driving the long winding roads, the more that Charles decided he liked Orsino. The drive was simple enough that Charles could retreat into the recesses of his own mind, but human life was so sparse along the way that the landscape of Charles' usually hectic mind felt deserted.

Charles was humming to the radio and enjoying the greenery when his cellphone rang. He reached across the console to grab his cellphone from the passenger's seat, cursing as he tried to simultaneously keep his vehicle on the road. "What is it, Hank?" Charles sighed, after checking the caller screen. "I'm almost there," he added, preemptively answering Hank's inevitable question.

"How much longer?" Hank inquired, with a distracted undertone. He said something, presumably to another person in the room. There was a muffled reply, and Hank sighed.

Charles hummed contemplatively, wondering who Hank was talking to. "Hmm, maybe ten minutes? Your house is the brick one near the end of Illyria Circle, right?"

"I thought you could take a quiz on it," Hank teased, still a bit distracted; he murmured something else askance- it sounded a lot like "You owe me", and the answering voice was louder and angrier in reply. "Yes, that is the one," Hank said into the receiver. "See you when you get here." He hung up before Charles could ask what was going on.

Charles had been correct in his estimation of ten minutes. No fewer had passed when Charles pulled his clunker up in front a delightfully rustic stonework house. He had barely managed to sling a leg out of his car when someone burst from the front door. Charles' eyes snapped to attention in time to watch a rather angry man stride across Hank's lawn and into the neighboring house. Hank came out after him a few minutes later, and followed the man to his home.

"Lehnsherr, you know I'm right," Hank called after him, but the man kept walking. Hank paused in the middle of his yard and called over to Charles sheepishly. "I'm sorry," he both mumbled and shouted at the same time; Charles wasn't quite sure how he managed that. "I'll be right back."

"Oh, a-alright," Charles replied, even though Hank had already chased the man back into his house. "Right then! I'll just stay here," he told himself.

He sat on the hood of his car, his two suitcase propped against the grille, prepared to wait a while for Hank to emerge from his neighbor's house. However, when someone did emerge, it was the man that Hank had been following- Lehnsherr, as Hank had called him. He was every bit as angry as he had been when he entered the house. Charles was a little bit more than nervous as Lehnsherr approached him, and he tried to remember how to pronounce any form of a greeting when the man stopped in front of him.

"These are your bags, I take it." He didn't give Charles time for a reply, instead hefting both bags up and carrying them to his house. Hank, who had followed the thief from his home, stood next to Charles.

"I know this is weird," he began, clearing his throat nervously. "But you see, I don't have an extra bed in my house, and Erik owes me a favor. So he's going to house you while you're not working with me." Charles gazed at Hank, letting the new information sink in.

"And when where you planning on telling me this?" Charles asked, assuming that the fight between the two men had not been planned. "When did you tell... _Erik_ this?"

"Well," Hank said slowly, twisting his hands together. "I had planned on telling you later tonight, but I didn't expect Erik to react so badly. I mean, it's not that big of a deal."

"Hank, I am a total stranger to Erik; it's a bit odd to ask a neighbor to give roof to a total stranger. I could be a serial rapist for all he knows."

"I hope you are not," drawled Erik, who had silently returned from storing away Charles bags. "It is already difficult enough to board you, but to add criminal activities to that is pushing an envelope that I care not to touch at all."

Charles flushed, and Hank cleared his throat nervously. "That was... you know, nevermind," Charles supplied to fill the silence. Erik however, deigned not to lend to the effort; instead, he chose to alternate staring curiously (though slightly contemptuously) at Charles, and trying to burn Hank alive with his mind.

Finally, after what seemed hours of Charles nervously clearing his throat, Hank tugging at his collar until it was lopsided, and Erik actively trying to Force-choke Hank, someone finally broke conversation. "Charles," Hank said brightly, seemingly out of nowhere so that Charles jumped skittishly. "I forgot to tell you that I'm taking you and Mr. Lehnsherr out to dinner tonight so that you can get to know each other better."

Charles stuttered a bit, still at a loss for words. "Well, Hank that's ver-"

"Hank, you cannot possibly imagine," Erik smoothly interrupted. "that dinner will appease my very righteous anger, now can you?"

Hank turned a blank, fairly flat gaze on Erik before Erik sighed and said, "Fine, you may expect me at 7:30." He turned and strode back toward his house before turning around.

"Oh, and... Charles, is it? Please, feel free to make yourself at home," he informed the situationally stunned man, not without sarcasm.

A few silent moments passed after Erik's departure, as Charles tried to digest what had just transpired. He was fairly tempted to push his way into Lehnsherr's mind to find the keys to an increasingly socially-stunted puzzle, but Charles had always been morally opposed to uninvited intrusions, and even in this instance, that bit of ethical rigidity still clung to him.

Hank, on the other hand, didn't seem to be quite as effected by Erik's rudeness; Charles suspected it was because Hank more than likely had to deal with it more often than not. But, unwilling to let his mood become palpable, Charles perked up.

"So, righto," Charles chirped, shifting himself off the hood of his car. "Where are we going to eat tonight, Hank?" Charles paused and offered a slight smile, before realizing something. "Oh! And you must show me about your home! I would dearly love to see it, and perhaps even take a look at your latest science project!"

Hank rolled his eyes, pointedly aware of the fact that he had, on multiple occasions, asked Charles not to call his studies _science projects_. But it was a moot point, since Charles had always been the kind to forget trivial facts such as nomenclature, unless it directly involved him or was a testy subject to the other. And in this case, it wasn't a truly big deal for Hank, only a small annoyance.

"Right," Hank said, clearing his throat. "Come on in."

Hank had been a capable tour guide, showing Charles the few research endeavors he had situated in his home. Charles had been appropriately stunned, and intellectually lost; then again, Hank had not asked him to stay in Orsino to conduct science experiments with him. He was there on behest of Malvolio Industries to potentially head the genetic bioindustries department, which was completely separate from Hank McCoy's department.

Initially, Charles had planned on a short stay with Hank so as to get his feet under him while simultaneously looking for independent lodgings; now that the plan had been shifted, Charles was now operating on a fast-tracked time line of which the steps were _1. Get the hell out of Mr. Lehnsherr's house and into one of my own, even if I can only find one in the next town over, and 2. Refer back to step one until complete._

But as the eve wore on with Charles and Hank participating in a horrid game that involved who could get the least scathing and lip-curling response from Erik over dinner, Charles began to plan a new time line that involved leaving Erik's house even if squatting in a cardboard box for months on end was part of that option.

He was willing to risk social deprivation and poor hygiene, because he was beginning to feel that stay with Erik was already very similar to that except it involved a little bit of unintentional emotional abuse with showers, and an accessible way to brush one's teeth.

Eventually, Hank excused himself to go to the bathroom, which left Charles sitting at the table alone with Erik. It took a few minutes, but finally Charles was able to brave an attempt at vocalizing the English language.

"Erm, I'm sorry about this whole living arrangements ordeal; as soon as we get back, I can assure you that I will be booking a hotel rooms."

Erik, looking up from his plate, smirked; Charles couldn't help but admire the fact that even a condescending facial expression as a smirk could make Erik Lehnsherr look nothing short of a Calvin Klein model.

"Your assurances are well-meant, Mr...? How amusing, I don't even know your last name."

Charles coughed into his sleeve, grimacing into the cardigan. "Ah, Xavier."

"Right, Mr. Xavier. While your intentions warm my heart, it might help to know that the nearest hotel is fifty miles away."

"Oh," Charles replied weakly. He shifted in his seat, trying to keep his eyes focused on his conversation partner, even while they begged to wander _anywhere else._

Erik, however, blessed Charles by letting his own gaze drop to his plate, effectively ending the exchange. When Hank returned to the table, Charles mentally begged that the evening be ending. _Please, Hank, _Charles mentally communicated to his friend. _End this torture; I am all for good manners, but let's end this and never bring it up again._

Hank, to his credit, didn't flinch at the mental intrusion, however unusual it was to have Charles in his head. They were both mutants known to each other, but that did not mean that they went about waving their powers to each other like flag code every chance they got. So such a mental display was enough to let Hank know that Charles was indeed suffering from a lack of polite conversation that didn't feel like getting one's toenail plied off.

Hank motioned to the waiter and ask for the bill, which he refused to split in two; Erik didn't offer to pay for his meal. As they left the restaurant, Erik strode over to his car and turned to face the other two men. "Hank, thank you for the meal; it was a _wonderful_ time. Charles," he nodded at the smaller man. "I suppose I'll be seeing you later tonight."

Charles couldn't explain the slight jump in his stomach, because it didn't feel completely like apprehension. Hank was oblivious however, and simply smiled at Erik and assured him he would return to Erik's abode at a reasonable hour.

"Hank, tomorrow is Saturday, correct?"

Hank looked up from the chess board that Charles had broken out almost immediately after arriving back at the McCoy abode.

"I think so," Hank murmured, returning his concentration to his plastic army. "Yes, today was Friday, so logically..."

"Is the lab open on Saturday?"

"No..." Hank mumbled, hesitantly reaching out to a bishop before rethinking the move. "It's not; Saturdays and Sundays the lab gets locked unless you get special permission to work through the weekend, and that is usually reserved for big project close to completion. Why do you ask?" Hank finally settled on moving his knight.

Charles regarded the move with half of his attention, moving a pawn to over take Hank's piece. Hank _tsk_ed. "Oh, because that means I'll be stuck looking for something to do, since you'll be locked in one of your many bedrooms-turned-laboratories."

Hank sighed, moving the previously considered bishop. Charles couldn't help but think how elementary it was to beat Hank in chess; Hank was too much a linear thinker to see a whole game play out in his mind.

"You can't hang at Erik's house?"

Charles sighed. "No, Hank, that would be both rude and uncomfortable. I'm an unwanted guest, so it would probably be better to stay out of the house as much as I can."

"Oh," Hank replied, finally looking up from the chess board. "I guess that makes sense. Maybe you can go into town and have a look around?"

Charles pursed his lips, considering the idea. "I suppose that could work. Yes, I think I will do that."

Hank nodded, and continued concentrating on the game. It was all for not, because ten minutes later, Charles had him soundly beat. Hank stood up, reaching up to stretch his back. He yawned loudly while stretching, both his jaw and his back popping. Charles smiled at Hank's obvious nonchalance over the sound beating, and began packing up the set.

"That was fun, Hank, but I suppose it's time for me to head on over to Erik's place," Charles concluded, checking his watch. It read eleven, even. It made Charles antsy; perhaps Erik was already asleep and would be angry about the intrusion so late.

Though it wasn't as if Charles had another alternative, since all of his things were over at Erik's. Unless he wanted to borrow Hank's things, which would be too large on him, and still wouldn't help him be able to brush his teeth before bed. The thought spurred him into motion, and picking up the box of chess, Charles said goodbye to Hank, who sleepily nodded in acknowledgment.

Charles made it out the front door, and padded across Erik and Hank's conjoined lawn. The front door to Erik's home loomed in front of Charles, and he swallowed noisily, seeing all the lights were off. He tried the handle and audibly sighed in relief that it was open.

_Holy hell, I have no idea where my things are, or what room I'm in,_ Charles realized as soon as he entered the pitch-black house. He put his hand out and felt along the wall, whispering out curses every time he tripped.

"Fucking shit," he mumbled, running face first into something solid. He fell backwards, landing on his ass. "The bloody hell was that?" Charles whispered angrily, putting his hands on the ground to push himself up.

He was stopped by two warm hands on he forearms, and Charles let out a strangled, surprised gasp.

"Mr. Xavier," Erik intoned dryly, lifting Charles to his feet. "That's quite the mouth you've got on you."

"I thought you were asleep," Charles said sheepishly, preemptively explaining his night-time wandering.

"I was," Erik replied, letting go of Charles. Charles took a half-step backward upon realizing how close they were standing. Erik, whose eyes were already adjusted to the darkness, smirked. Charles, whose eyes were not, didn't notice it. "But you whisper loud enough to wake the dead."

He turned and walked down the hall, pausing momentarily for Charles to catch up with him. They stopped in front of a closed door, which Erik pushed open and flipped the light switch. Charles put his hands to his face to block the sudden flood of blinding light.

"This is your room, Charles; now I'm going back to bed. Goodnight." With that, Erik was gone, striding down the hall on long legs. Charles strode into the room, wondering how big the house was, since he could still- though barely- hear Erik's footsteps.

Charles threw himself into the bed after hastily brushing his teeth and washing his face; the clock on the nightstand read "12:45." Charles sighed contentedly, his face pressed into the soft pillow on the bed, and soon fell asleep, thinking about his unusually grumpy host and his own very strange situation.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Oh my God, someone please put me out of my misery and beta this thing. Oh God, please.

Anyway, this chapter came along a bit faster (_obligatory sex joke?) _than I was expecting, especially because I've been chillin' with the bronies; see, that is what my life devolves into when I am not focused. I sit around in a Snuggie, watching My Little Ponies: Friendship is Magic; it's... rather sad, actually. My Snuggie is stained with butter and shame.

But anyway, here's the chapter, like promised.

Also, be on the look out for a story that I'm going to put out this week; it's just a little one-shot. (Also, has anyone else noticed that Willow Smith looks exactly like Will Smith? Like, _exactly._)

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><p>The next morning seemed an eternity coming and when it dawned, Charles wasn't sure if he was happy that he no longer had to lie in a strange house, pretending to be asleep, or that he missed a full eight hours of admittedly what would have been restless sleep.<p>

Charles lied in bed for ten extra minutes, pondering the non-issue of a sleepless night before he admitted to himself that he was only stalling so he didn't have to get up and face Erik before beginning what he assumed would be a glorious day of stranger's-hand-shaking.

Charles rolled over, onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow. He breathed deeply, listening the the sounds of the house. There were faint clanging sounds, followed by short bursts of staccato whistling. _That's either a teapot, or a cat with a punctured windpipe._

The whistling continued for a few additional moments, before stuttering to silence, turning Charles' thoughts to tea. The warmth under his covers was only so powerful until his insatiable desire for Earl Grey had him throwing the comforter back and stumbling around the loaned room for a shirt.

A few more rustling and shuffling sounds issued from outside his door, before a final slam left the house in silence. By that time, Charles had found a shirt and slipped on a cardigan to keep himself warm.

Padding out into hallway, Charles wandered around for a few minutes before finding the kitchen. It was a sleek, modern affair, but it was all lost on Charles, whose main focus was the steaming mug on the island. A Post-It note was stuck to the side of the dishware, the bright yellow of the parer stark on the white ceramic. Charles reached forward and plucked the note from the warm cup, delighted to smell bergamot as he leaned in.

_C.,_

_Went to work._

_-E._

Charles couldn't help but smile at the note. It fit Charles' limited idea of Erik- gruff and to the point. He crumpled the note and slipped it into his pocket, as he turned to lean back against the counter. The mug of tea was warm in his hands, and Charles was momentarily touched Erik's thoughtfulness. He stayed lost in thought, sipping his tea, until he heard a knock at the door.

Charles froze, not sure if it was within his rights or etiquette to answer the summons. The knocking persisted though, until it became not an issue of manners but of sanity. "_Dear God,_ I'll be there in a minute," Charles grumbled, pushing off of the island. "Just stop your incessant pounding."

He shuffled down the hall, meeting the door to look for a peephole. _No such luck._

His hand curled around the doorknob to ease it open, coming face to face with a bright smile. Charles rocked back on his heels, surprised. "H-hello, how can I help you?"

The smile, Charles noticed, was attached to the ridiculously attractive face of a man, perhaps in his early twenties. He was the Anglo-Saxon dream: blonde, blue-eyed, and a jawline like the Cliffs of Dover.

"You're not Erik," the visitor announced. Charles wasn't sure if the young man was mentally deficient or just prone to announcing the obvious.

"No," Charles agreed slowly. "I'm not. I'm just a guest."

"Right," the young man agreed, redundantly. "I just came visiting because Erik's mail was delivered to my house by mistake."

"Ah," Charles said, not sure what else could be contributed to the conversation.

"Am I," the Adonis-wannabe drawled. "interrupting something?" He leaned forward slightly, trying to see around Charles. Charles, for his part, stepped out onto the stoop, pulling the door shut behind him.

"No, Erik's gone to work and I was just having a cup of tea."

"Ah," the rapidly unwelcome man murmured. "Oh! I'm Alex Summers," he said at last, throwing a hand forward.

Charles smiled wanly. "Charles Xavier," he returned, shaking Alex's hand. "About that mail?"

Alex smiled. "You know what, I seem to have left it back at my house. You should come by later for it."

Charles raised his eyebrows, his expression incredulous. "Is that so? Then I suppose I'll tell Erik to stop by."

"No," Alex said too quickly, eyes wide. "That's not really necessary. In fact, I'll bring it by later. It'll give me chance to... get to know you better. You know what they say about new friends." With that, Alex turned around and loped across Erik's lawn, moving quickly down the street.

_No, _Charles thought, shutting the door behind him as he moved back into the house. _I don't have any idea what _they _say about new friends._

Eventually, Charles dressed himself and exited the house. After an internal debate about locking the door, he finally concluded that if he needed to get back in the house, he'd be shit out of luck since it would be rude to leave the house unlocked.

_And with that, I've more or less sealed my plans._

A quick look over at Hank's house confirmed that the physicist was out and about, leaving Charles to his own devices. So Charles pulled his keys out of his pocket, and unlocked his car, planning to spend the day around town.

Hank and Erik lived in an unplotted subdivision some twenty minutes outside of downtown Orsino, but it took Charles some forty minutes to find the central hub of the small metropolitan area. He was pleasantly surprised to see that it was a mixture of commercial and small business- the kind of commerce that indicated a close community.

Charles parked his car along the side of one of the many store-lined streets, and clambered out of it. The street was lined with people enjoying their weekend, and not for the first time, Charles wondered why Erik was working. _Not, _he mentally admonished, _that it is any of my business._

A few hours were spent with Charles aimlessly strolling up and down the shopping walks, listening to passersby.

_I wonder if this will fit me?_

_Dammit, I got mustard on my shirt._

_What time did I have to meet her?_

_Whoah, how could anyone afford this?_

And finally, the most interesting thought Charles had heard that day:

_Godfuckingholyshitfucksdammit, motherfucking fuck of all fucks, not again._

Charles eyes widened, not used to such... unimaginative, yet creative profanity. He stopped walking, closing his eyes to pinpoint the explicative distress. His mind feathered passed hundreds of others, creating a web of near GPS quality. Charles smiled, and opened his eyes to cross the street.

A few minutes later, Charles causally strolled by a very frustrated woman. She was furiously manhandling the door latch of what appeared to be a squad car. That gave Charles pause; was she trying to break into the car?

"Yes," the woman snapped. "As a matter of fact, I _am _trying to jack into this _goddamned _squad car."

Charles grimaced, realizing he had spoken aloud. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"If you _must_ know," the woman continued, shoving her hair out of her face. "It's _my _car; I locked my goddamned keys inside."

"Ah," Charles replied, intrigued by the almost obscene amount of frustration rolling off of her. Locking one's keys inside a car usually wasn't something to agonize over. "Wouldn't someone from the police station have a spare set of keys...? Or perhaps even a skeleton key?"

The woman turned to face him, hand falling off the door handle. "Why yes, they do; however, I won't stoop to calling those assholes yet again."

"Yet again?"

"This isn't the first time this has happened," the police woman sighed, leaning back against her car. "It's more like the six... teenth."

_Sixteenth? No wonder the poor woman is using a deity to condemn her car!_

"I know, it's a lot, isn't it?" she added, seeing Charles surprise. "But anyway, thank you for your concern, …?"

"Oh, Charles. Charles Xavier," he replied, taking her hand in a firm handshake.

"Moira McTaggert. Officer Moira McTaggert. I hate to be nosy, but are you the Charles Xavier that Malvolio's Bioengineering Division brought in to head up a new research project?"

Charles was taken for surprise yet again. "Um," he fumbled, unsure if he was at liberty to answer her.

"Oh, never mind me," she adjusted, smiling. Charles knew she already had the answer.

"Yes, well... Right," Charles said at least, smiling awkwardly.

Several moments passed in an awkward silence, as Charles tried to work out a way to extract himself from the death throes of the conversation, when Moira sprung a surprising question.

"Do you want to get lunch?"

"Oh, well... I'm not really hungry." The lie was quickly shot down by Charles' stomach gurgling.

Moira laughed, not put out but Charles' reluctance. "I think your stomach is saying something different." She wrapped her hand around Charles' wrist, tugging him behind her as she made her way down the street. She released him once in front of a quaint little cafe; a fawn-colored awning announced the name and business hours of the establishment: LUNE, OPEN 24/7.

Not for the first time since arriving in Orsino did Charles wonder what the hell he was doing; he had inadvertently gotten himself tangled up with a cop whom he was moderately sure _might_ think he was attractive, and subsequently got himself embroiled in a lunch date with said cop.

If only it was easy to work "Hey, I don't really even know you, and I'd like to leave now" into casual conversation. But as things stood, Charles had the next hour on his planner blocked off for a lunch date with one Moira McTaggert, a police officer whom he had just met.

Charles was well into his meal before he realized that he was enjoying himself. Moira was an entertaining conversationalist, and Charles found himself always either smiling or laughing at something she'd said. She had the habit of always saying exactly what was on her mind, and while that was found to be embarrassing quite a few times, it was also strangely refreshing.

"So," Moira began without preamble. "How do you like Orsino so far?"

Charles took a sip of his water before speaking. "What little I've seen of it I like."

"Once I get my car unlocked, I'll take you for the grand tour."

Charles shook his head, smiling lightly. "You're too kind, Ms. McTaggert."

"No, really," she insisted, laughing. "There's barely ever anything for a cop to do around here; I be getting paid to take a handsome stranger around town."

Charles, for his part, colored slightly. "Again, you flatter," he demurred.

"Charles," Moira returned flatly. "I mean it; let me show you around."

"Moira, I will consider your very kind offer, but I must point out: your squad car is still locked, and you refuse to call for help."

"Well, naturally, as the only woman on the force, I'd want to go at it alone. Do you know how many times I've had to call back to the station for help, just have have some asshole use that as an excuse for why women should be on the job?"

The telepath cringed at her harsh language, but he didn't really expect any differently after his informal introduction to her consisted of poorly constructed, yet heartfelt expletives. "Be that as it may, but you still need your car unlocked. You'd be more a crusader for equal rights if you had a functional car."

"Oh, my car is fully functional. It's just... out of commission for the time being."

Charles didn't try to point out the inaccuracy of her words; he'd learned many things in the last few hours, but more than anything, he knew you didn't correct Moira McTaggert.

"Well, if I can convince you to call for back-up, then perhaps I can drive you to someone who could help you?"

Moira looked up at Charles, her expression one of hopeful surprise. "You'd do that? Really?"

Charles picked up a tone of mock hurt. "Really, Moira, chivalry isn't dead."

"In my experience, Mr. Xavier," she replied playfully. "It's been dead and buried for a while."

"Right, then allow me to pay the check, drive you wherever you need to go, and hopefully prove to you that there is still honor among men."

Once outside the restaurant, Charles led Moira back to his car. She smiled when she saw the old, beat up four door. "Charles, somehow this is exactly the car I pictured you with."

"I don't know whether to be complimented or insulted," he said jovially.

They drove in companionable conversation for a few minutes before Charles' cellphone vibrated angrily on the dash. Glancing over at Moira, he apologized. "I'm sorry, but I should probably take this."

"Stop apologizing and just answer the damn phone," she told him, shaking her head. Her tone was undermined, however, by the smile she wore.

Charles flipped the device open and pressed it against his ear, greeting Hank on the other end.

"Charles, could I get you to bring me some of that paperwork you have to finalize your job transfer?"

"When do you need it by, Hank?"

"Well, as soon as possible would be ideal."

Charles sighed, the sound crackling through the receiver and back into his own ears. "Alright, I'll get on it."

He hung up, and put the phone back on the dash. "Moira, if we took a quick detour, would that be okay?"

Moira nodded. "You don't even need to ask, Charles. It's your car."

"Thank you."

Pulling the car into a U-turn, Charles made way back to Erik's house. Twenty minutes and much raucous conversation later, they pulled up in front of Erik's house. Moira looked up at the large, brick domicile and whistled. "Those are some fancy digs, Charles."

Charles smiled. "Oh, it's not mine. I'm just staying with... a friend."

He slid out of the car and loped across the lawn, climbing the three steps up to the front door. Once in front of it, he remembered that he'd locked the door earlier that morning. "Shit."

"Whoah, Charles," Moira gasped, startling him. He'd thought she would wait in the car, but he realized he should have known better. "I've never heard you curse! I didn't think you had it in you!"

Charles turned back to the door, shaking his head. "I'm not a saint, Ms. McTaggert."

"Could've fooled me."

With an eye-roll, Charles tried the handle. No luck, it was still locked- not that he'd expected anything different.

He did not expect, however, the footsteps on the other side of the door and the angry mumblings that sounded an awful bit like Erik Lehnsherr. Suddenly Charles was hyper-aware of his wrinkled shirt and his uninvited guest.

"What do you- Oh, it's you, Charles," Erik grumbled upon opening the door. "Why is this door locked?"

"I, ah, locked it when I left this morning."

"For future reference, you don't have to," Erik informed him.  
>"Hello, Erik," Moira said, announcing her presence.<p>

Erik's sea-green eyes fixed on Moira, his lips curling in distaste. "McTaggert, what do you want?"

"Oh, Charles here is just giving me a ride. I locked my keys in my car."

"Charles, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, do you?"

Charles looked back and forth between Moira and Erik, confused about the animosity. To complicate matters, the same Alex Summers from Charles' morning cup of tea decided to drop by once again.

"'Lo, Erik! I see you have company!"

Erik hissed something that sounded an awful lot like a curse under his breath. To Charles, he muttered, "What the hell? You decided that my front porch needed a party?"

Charles looked back at Erik, alarmed. "No," he whispered back. "I didn't! Moira was supposed to wait in the car, and I had no idea Alex was going to show up!"

"Oh, you've met Alex too? Well aren't you the little social butterfly!"

To Alex, "Summers, you still owe me a favor. Take Moira here to where the hell it was she needed to go."

Moira's eyes widened and she looked back at Alex; Alex was scoping her out, and he smiled when she met his eyes. "Sure thing, Lehnsherr. C'mon, Moira," he motioned to her, already using her first name.

Moira looked back at Erik and Charles, but Charles wasn't paying her any mind. He was staring at Erik, worried that he'd made him mad enough to lose him temporary tenement.

Moira, knowing a lost cause when she saw one, threw her hands up in the air. "What the hell."

Alex, already moving across the lawn, looked back at Erik, snapping his fingers. "Oh damn, Erik, I forgot your mail _again_. I'll just bring it by later tonight."

But the last half of his sentence was cut off by Erik slamming the door closed.

Charles scrambled after Erik, who was moving angrily down the hallway. "Erik, I didn't mean to cause trouble; I didn't know you and Ms. McTaggert had such a history."

Erik sighed and turned around. "It's more of a one time personal insult than an ongoing history, Charles."

"Oh," Charles replied. He looked at Erik, silently inquiring.

"Shit, fine. We went out on one blind date, and towards the end of it, she all but formally announced that I was gay."

Charles' eyebrows drew together. "You're... gay? Not," Charles hastily spat out, realizing the rudeness of the question. He'd just been shocked out of etiquette. "that there is _anything _wrong with that, at all."

"I was on a date _with a woman. _So that was the end of Moira and I; one date and an insult." He turned on his heel and moved down the hall, out of sight.

Charles was left in the hallway alone, thinking. _He didn't confirm my question... but he didn't deny it either._

* * *

><p>AN: No really, subtlety is my middle name.  
>I hope it didn't throw anybody off that I barely had Erik in this chapter. He had his own <em>thang<em> to do, perhaps to be revealed in later chapters. _Hmmm._

Anyway, I will update Sunday next week at the latest, but if I get any time, it might be sooner than that. Also, does it annoy anyone else when people refer to non-anime gayfic as yaoi? It annoys me just a little bit. Kawaii-fucking-desu.


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